


let your mind do the walking

by Blake



Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [8]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Guilt, M/M, Subspace, The Shire, as a treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Bilbo’s not sure if it’s guilt, shame, or fear that makes Thorin feel unworthy of touching him. Whatever it is, it’s quite different from the joy, relief, and gratitude which color Thorin’s touch on most days. Perhaps it’s a dwarf thing. Or perhaps it’s a matter of something Bilbo should have phrased differently. He wouldn’t know, because every time he suggests such a thing, Thorin just insists on how perfect Bilbo is, how completely beyond censure.What Bilbo does know, now, is how to deal with it.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: 30 Days of Depeche Mode Bagginshield ficlets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705147
Comments: 4
Kudos: 93





	let your mind do the walking

When a rainstorm is coming, the air takes on a crisp quality above an undercurrent of molten heat, like a well-baked pie. When a snowstorm is on its way, the flowers close their petals. When the Sackville-Bagginses are planning a visit, the inside of Bilbo’s elbow itches.

But there doesn’t seem to be any observable pattern in weather, plant behavior, or skin conditions to predict when Thorin will have one of these days.

Bilbo only notices the signs in the moment. Thorin’s hands shake, and his touch is lighter. And that’s only after Bilbo has initiated contact, because Thorin never reaches out to touch him when he’s in this state, seeming to replace touching with staring at him instead. There’s a sad shine in his bright blue eyes, and he busies his hands with any task in sight until Bilbo takes them in his own.

Bilbo’s not sure if it’s guilt, shame, or fear that makes Thorin feel unworthy of touching him. Whatever it is, it’s quite different from the joy, relief, and gratitude which color Thorin’s touch on most days. Perhaps it’s a dwarf thing. Or perhaps it’s a matter of something Bilbo should have phrased differently. He wouldn’t know, because every time he suggests such a thing, Thorin just insists on how perfect Bilbo is, how completely beyond censure.

What Bilbo does know, now, is how to deal with it.

“Ssh, I’ve got you.” Bilbo presses Thorin down into the bed, pushing chest hair away with his tongue until he can lick and suck the red nub of his nipple until it’s hard between his teeth. Only then does Thorin go concave and lax. His chest expands, his thick biceps stop resisting up against the pressure of Bilbo’s forearms, and his head starts to grow heavy under Bilbo’s hands.

“But—”

“Let me,” Bilbo commands, careful not to infuse his words with the sorrowful impatience he feels at the ridiculous prospect of Thorin focusing on the few mistakes he made whilst sick rather than the hundreds of nights he’s made the most perfect shapes in Bilbo’s bed. “I’ve got you. Let me have what I want.” With Thorin’s arm gone compliantly soft, Bilbo lets one hand drift down Thorin’s chest, scratching through soft hair, raking lines all the way down to his navel, where the hair turns thicker so mouthwateringly quickly. “Let me have you.”

Bilbo isn’t exactly sure where Thorin’s mind wanders to in these moments, but he has stopped and asked about the tears enough times to have gathered that they’re the good kind of tears, and he has held a smiling, melting Thorin afterwards enough times to have gathered that whatever process he goes through, he comes out on the other end feeling better.

And it’s not as though it’s a chore for Bilbo to make himself comfortable between Thorin’s thighs, following every twitch with his tongue and chasing every gasp with the hungry soft spot at the back of his throat. Once Thorin is wet enough and his thighs are spasming under the slightest touch and his cock lies hard and flat against his stomach, Bilbo sits along the hot length of it—something to rub against while palming himself and watching Thorin’s hands clutch in the pillows, watching Thorin’s eyes flicker open and closed.

“So beautiful. Such a treasure,” are the words, the reality Bilbo lets Thorin come back to after milking them each dry onto Thorin’s stomach and tracing it all across every precious line of his abdomen. He says these things precisely because he knows that, for some reason, Thorin believes they apply to Bilbo, but not himself.

Thorin makes a humming noise, as though he’s still surprised, even after all these months.

Bilbo lowers himself down, trying to get close enough to kiss as best he can without letting their bellies touch too much. “But I suppose I shall have to clean you up. I like to take care of my pretty things.”

When he’s pulled into a tearful kiss, Bilbo feels against his lips Thorin’s first smile of the day, and he feels incredibly pleased with himself.


End file.
